


Mormor Advent Challenge 2020 Day 9: Unwrap

by RueRambunctious



Series: Mormor Advent Challenge 2020 [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Advent Challenge, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mild Sexual Content, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty Fluff, Swearing, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29043747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RueRambunctious/pseuds/RueRambunctious
Summary: Jim doesn't normally do Christmas, or presents, just Sebastian.This year is different.
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty
Series: Mormor Advent Challenge 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044660
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Mormor Advent Challenge 2020 Day 9: Unwrap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beebun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beebun/gifts).



> Yes I am still writing about Christmas. What of it?
> 
> *
> 
> Dedicated to Beebun, who deserves good days.

Sebastian has never pictured what shame may look like on Jim Moriarty’s face. It seems too absurd a concept to waste time thinking on. Seb is a practical man.

And yet.

And yet here Jim is, seemingly shamefaced; his ears pink and his eyes downcast.

He’s not faking either. Sebastian knows what all those variants look like on the skilful little performer’s face after what feels like an entire era together… and this anomaly is none of those. Jim is genuinely embarrassed.

Sebastian doesn’t know how to feel about that. The shock blindsides him for a moment, and then the oft-ignored self-preservation instinct kicks in and tells Seb to be afraid, very afraid. Jim is dangerous at the best of times, but no one is safe if the psychopathic genius is feeling vulnerable.

As usual, the _Be Very Afraid_ warning screaming in Sebastian’s veins only encourages Seb. Fear is a type of excitement and he’s always been a thrill-seeker. His dry mouth moistens as his adrenal glands spark from shock – alarm – readiness - into _anticipation_.

Jim can tell that he’s being looked at now. He makes a noise that sounds like it was meant to be a dissuasive growl from his chest, but ends up merely being a disgruntled - _stung_ \- hiss from somewhere in his throat. Sebastian knows the man to be deadly, but the unnerving disquiet Jim is displaying is kind of… endearing. If Jim wasn’t the sort to read and punish unsaid unflattering thoughts, Seb might dare admit to himself that in this moment Jim Moriarty – fearsome, infamous consulting criminal mastermind with his lowered head and awkwardly fidgeting toes – is _cute_.

Sebastian closes the door fully and walks further into the room where Jim looks likes he wants to curl up under a rock and not even plot revenge over whatever has him in this state. Jim shrinks his shoulders and turns his body further away, making both a smaller target and greater ease of avoiding eye contact.

Sebastian tries not to square his bulk too threateningly as he spreads his palms in a non-threatening, faux-casual gesture. “So,” the blond says, “you want to tell me what this is all about?”

“No,” Jim says peevishly. He rolls his shoulders as though considering whether to try to hide his latest escapade, or run, and pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh when he accepts neither option will work. Jim may be fast and slippery, but Sebastian has longer legs and a bulky frame blocking Jim’s exit.

There’s also of course the fact that Jim’s scrawny frame cannot possibly hope to hide the Christmas tree behind him that’s about twice as tall as Sebastian is. And Seb is well over six feet in height.

Sebastian sighs softly, more affectionately than he means to. He doesn’t regret that though, especially when Jim’s shoulders slacken marginally.

“Tough,” Seb says firmly. He indicates the décor. “Since when do we celebrate any holidays, and why are you so shifty about it?”

“I’m not ‘shifty’!” Jim protests, daring to look up a little in a pique of indignation. He crosses his arms defensively. “I can decorate my house if I want to.”

Seb rolls his eyes and approaches carefully. “I live here too. It’s _our_ house and you know it.”

Jim watches the movement mistrustfully but does not back away. “I’m not one for sharing.”

“That’s why we have a spare blanket as well as a duvet,” Sebastian quips lightly. “But haven’t you had plenty practise by now? It’s been years, Jimbo.”

Jim oscillates his neck as he openly considers. “It has been… That’s… Well that’s important. Significant.”

Seb looks at the other man. He then looks at the tree again. How did the little fucker even decorate much higher than five feet up?

“What’s significant enough to merit a tree, Trouble?” he asks.

Jim swallows. The fading pink in his ears returns to full scarlet. “It just is!” he snaps softly.

Sebastian raises a brow slowly. It’s a nifty trick learned from Jim himself, and it is surprisingly effective; Jim squirms at it without even needing to look up.

Seb waits, and unpredictable Jim predictably buckles. “Maybe I’m just feeling sentimental for once!” the brunet yells.

“Jim Moriarty feels sentimental? Should I call a doctor?” Sebastian scoffs, but keeps his voice low and gentle so Jim doesn’t fly off in a huff.

“You can take it down if you want,” Jim says in a voice far off his usual peevish, combative tone.

“Don’t be stupid,” Seb tells the genius. “Just curious what’s going on here.”

“I-” Jim cuts himself off as though alarmed he might give himself away, seeming to shock himself out of the sulky, shy thing into a fiercer sort of sullen embarrassment. He tries to push past Sebastian crossly.

Seb snatches the fine-boned, flighty creature by the arm and uses the momentum of the grasp to spin Jim around into his own considerably broader arms. “Did I say you could go?”

Jim snorts despite himself. “You’re not the boss of me, Moran.”

Sebastian crushes himself into a vice-like trap around the other man’s spry frame. He is very careful not to allow any risk of Jim wriggling or hitting his way out of the hold. “I think this employer / employee relationship is far past the point of proper roles, Kitten.”

Jim narrows his dark eyes. “You want your P45, Tiger?”

“Now, now, Santa won’t come if you’re grumpy,” Seb teases. He dips his head to kiss Jim’s dark scalp; he is very careful of being headbutted by an irate, captive Kitten.

“The man with deep pockets has already been, moron,” Jim mumbles. His voice tries for cross but is wrought with humiliation again. Sebastian doesn’t understand that at first, but then he directs his gaze to where Jim is resolutely Not Looking: there are gifts under the tree.

“Gone all out this year, have we?” Seb comments in a carefully even voice.

Jim lets an annoyed breath out of his nostrils.

Sebastian waits.

Jim bares his teeth and twists away. “You can see fine well.”

Seb raises his brow with a carefully impassive expression. “Some of those for me? What’s the occasion?”

Jim spins back around to glare at Sebastian for his seemingly deliberate stupidity. Seb may only be Church of England, but he’d still grown up in a Christian country. “They’re all for you, moron, who else would they be for?”

Seb tilts his head to the side. “They could be empty, just for aesthetic. You like dressing spaces.”

“Have I ever bothered before?” Jim snaps.

“No, but you’re rarely predictable,” Sebastian says diplomatically. 

Jim twitches his brows in reluctant agreement, fractionally mollified.

“So why this year?” Seb pushes in a carefully light voice.

Jim flinches. Frowns. “Because you almost _died_ this year!”

Seb stares at the man. “Yeah, but hardly for the first time. Why’s that any different?”

Jim pulls away. “It just _is_ ,” he says in a clipped voice.

“Bless, are you catching feelings?” Sebastian asks, because he has no self-preservation instinct. It has gotten sick of being ignored and has packed its bags.

Jim charges him, like Seb knew he would. He shifts his stance and catches the little spitfire with amusement. “Careful,” Sebastian teases. “Don’t want to change that ‘almost’ to ‘actually’ do we? Especially not when you’ve gone to such efforts.”

“You want me to throttle you,” Jim says darkly, his voice muffled by Seb’s chest but his threat perfectly clear.

“Kinky, but you can’t reach from there,” Sebastian says.

“Let me go and I’ll show you what I can reach.”

Seb dares to laugh. “Not a chance. I value my life.”

Jim bucks his hips just enough to brush teasingly against the bigger man. “Not all of you does.”

“Yes, well, violent foreplay in a minute,” Sebastian says, amused, but eyes blown with desire nonetheless. “I want to know what’s in those boxes.”

“You’ll be in a box in a moment,” Jim promises.

Sebastian laughs and risks kissing the top of the Irishman’s scalp. “Promises promises.”

“Or perhaps I’ll have you in ribbons,” Jim muses. “Lovely festive red ones. I’ve gotten a lovely new flaying knife recently.”

Seb twitches at that, and regrets pinning Jim close enough to feel it. “Don’t you dare,” Sebastian says, because he’s not going to just march right into the bedroom and strip for such treatment. His self-preservation instinct may be gone, but he still has his dignity. For now.

“I could tie a bow on it if you want a present in return for those,” Sebastian suggests.

“What else would you give the man who has everything?” Jim mutters. “Well, nearly everything.”

Sebastian risks releasing the man just enough to see Jim’s face. “What are you plotting now? What don’t you have, Jimbo?”

A peculiar expression flickers across Jim’s face. “Wouldn’t you want to know,” he mumbles. Seb waits, but the man is no more forthcoming. Snaky, secretive sod.

Sebastian says, “I do, but if you’re not telling yet then I want to know what’s in that wrapping paper.” He risks taking his gaze from Jim for a moment to gaze beneath the tree.

“If you open anything before Christmas day I’ll break your fingers,” Jim warns.

“Christmas Eve?” Seb bargains.

“What good will a sniper be to me without working fingers, Sebastian Moran?” Jim asks blithely.

“You’re no fun,” Seb grumbles playfully.

Jim snickers softly into Sebastian’s chest, breath warm. “You sure about that?”

He presses into Seb pointedly. Sebastian’s breathing quickens. “Are you trying to distract me?” Seb asks.

“Darling, I’m not ‘trying’ – it’s _working_ ’,” Jim purrs.

“You are absolutely trying, but I’m willing to carry you to bed if you’re amenable,” Seb responds.

Jim chuckles.”I’ll remember that when you’re pleading later.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Sebastian says, then swings Jim over his shoulder. He gives Jimbo’s upturned rump a heartfelt, possessive slap just because he knows it will piss the brunet off. Again, a perfectly healthy fear response is replaced by transferred arousal. And actual arousal, because of all the pointy parts of Jim, the bit digging in to Seb’s shoulder is a favourite.

Jim manages to keep Sebastian occupied (and indeed, captive) for hours. He has to ensure Seb is properly punished for taking such a liberty with Jim's posterior, and is thoroughly distracted from thoughts of the mysterious Christmas gifts. 

It takes Seb days to get time alone with the presents to unwrap them with excruciating care. He’s surprised and pleased with their contents, but then Jim always has been an excellent mindreader. 

As such, Sebastian is baffled when Christmas Day rolls around and the contents of the gifts are not what he remembered. They still have the same tiny mistakes in re-wrapping that he made when trying to cover up his snooping!

Jim smiles at him slyly. “You think I don’t know that I live with an unscrupulous criminal, Tiger?”

Sebastian laughs guiltily, his throat and cheeks becoming warm. “Tigers are hard to domesticate.”

“Hmm,” Jim says. His expression is odd. Sebastian watches as Jim walks back to the tree and removes a small box from inside an otherwise perfectly innocent-looking bauble. Of course all the décor conspires against him. There’s probably cameras too.

Jim grins, bizarrely awkward-looking, and offers out his palm. His fingers are curled shyly against the box as though wary of exposing its contents.

“For me?” Sebastian clarifies, not that he needs to.

Jim nods slowly and watches with tense shoulders as Seb unwraps the little box.

“Thought it was time I domesticated my tiger,” Jim says at last.

Sebastian looks at the man through eyes that are a little wet, but not from pain or desperation, which is rather new in their relationship. “So this was really about a present for you, huh?”

Jim shrugs with a softly sly smile. “Who wants to be the man with _almost_ everything?”


End file.
